


One Or Maybe Two

by Luna_Myth



Category: What Remains of Edith Finch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, Drama, Family, Gen, Hospitals, I have to do everything myself, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internal Monologue, Just to warn you, Labor and Delivery, Pain, Sad with a Happy Ending, Teen Pregnancy, frequent references to death and dying, i mean its this game so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Myth/pseuds/Luna_Myth
Summary: Edith Finch stumbled into the emergency room, and she was pretty sure she was dying.





	One Or Maybe Two

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i am not a doctor

Edith Finch stumbled into the emergency room, and she was pretty sure she was dying. A sharp pain wracked her body, originating in her abdomen and penetrating down into her thighs and lower back. It was so intense she couldn’t breathe, and for this reason, she was sure she was dying. 

Then, just when she was sure it was too much for her, the pain retreated, and she could breathe again, just barely. She gasped from the seat she’d fallen into near the door, and still holding her swollen stomach, she saw that a nurse had come up to her from the station behind the registration counter. It was a young woman with light brown hair, somewhere in either her late twenties or early thirties. 

“No point asking what you’re here for,” she said, smiling kindly. “I thought I’d come to you.” 

“Thanks,” Edith said, still out of breath. She figured she had a few minutes before the next contraction. “Ouch.” 

“I’d imagine,” the nurse agreed. “How old are you? I need to know for the record.” 

“Seventeen,” said Edith. “My birthday’s in February.” 

“And your name?” 

The girl in question smiled a strange smile, sad and ironic and something else. Lonely, perhaps, or wistful. “Edith Finch.” 

“Where’s your family?” asked the nurse, seemingly concerned for her. 

Edith winced, involuntarily wrapping her arms tighter around her stomach. Her heart felt weak inside her chest. “Dead,” she said quietly. “I took a bus here.” 

The nurse’s eyes widened, but she didn’t stop to comment. 

“We’ll get you in as soon as possible,” she finally said after asking Edith a few more questions. “Just sit tight, kiddo.” 

Edith was about to reply, but she guessed her few minutes were up because her stomach seized with pain and she couldn’t hold in a low groan. She merely nodded to the nurse as she struggled to breathe, taking short, gasping breaths as the pain built. And the whole time as she fought to get air into her lungs, two conflicting thoughts warred in her mind-- _ I don’t want to die here _ and  _ I am definitely going to die here. _

She was on the verge of a full-blown panic when the door across the emergency room opened and the same nurse from before stepped out, rolling a wheelchair in her direction. About fifteen minutes had passed, and Edith had had two more contractions, each painful enough to convince her she was going to die here and join the rest of her family, wherever it was they were. The nurse came to a halt in front of her. 

“Do you need help getting into this?” she asked, gesturing toward the wheelchair. Edith appreciated being asked. It made her feel less like she was actively dying. 

“No,” she said, making an attempt to stand up. She immediately crumpled back into her seat. “Yes.” She felt her face go red with embarrassment, an emotion she had not expected to experience while dying. 

The nurse helped Edith into the wheelchair, Edith holding her swollen belly and the nurse holding Edith. As they exited the emergency room, she felt the beginnings of another contraction, sooner than she’d expected. They were getting worse and happening faster. She cried out as soon as they left the room, hunching reflexively over her stomach. 

“I think something’s wrong,” Edith gasped as soon as she could, anywhere from thirty seconds to a minute later. She and the nurse were approaching a room in the maternity ward. Edith grit her teeth in pain. 

“They’ll be sending a doctor to you soon,” said the nurse, steering the wheelchair over the threshold into the new hospital room. There was a bed in the middle of the room, facing a TV in the corner playing a reality show on mute, and various medical equipment around it, some of which Edith recognized from when her mom was in the hospital. Off to the side was a glass box on wheels with blankets and a tiny mattress inside; there was only one thing it could be used for. Edith stared at it for a brief moment, her heart racing. 

“I think the staff are worried about you,” the nurse continued, “because you’re so young, so you won’t have to wait long. Better get you settled before the obstetrician arrives.” 

Edith nodded, already too on edge to be either comforted or further alarmed by this. With the nurse’s help, she managed to stand, which despite the painful shift in pressure made her feel less helpless, and she leaned against the hospital bed to try and help with the process of taking off her shoes. The nurse protested, but Edith insisted, one arm strung across her belly, the other reaching down to try to help untangle the laces of her boots. 

“I always doubleknot them,” she explained. 

The nurse at her feet made a noise of effort and pulled off one of the boots after much difficulty. “How did you even get these on?” 

Edith, who was still vaguely upright due to her current inability to bend at the waist, shrugged. “It was easier this morning. Didn’t hurt this much.” 

“Yes, I am concerned about your pain levels,” said the nurse, now helping her take off her jacket, an oversized creation of cheap, dark fabric that Edith had found at a thrift store. Despite its ridiculous length, she’d been unable to button it over her bump and as such had left it open. 

Suddenly, Edith sat down on the hospital bed, her expression twisted. “W-wait a minute, something--it’s--” Pain bore down on her like a brand around her stomach. It felt like her muscles were turning to fire, a burning sensation spreading through her core from her lower back to the tops of her thighs. Her eyes closed, and she moaned aloud in obvious pain. Her breathing came in harsh bursts. 

“...Edith? Miss Finch?” The nurse was trying to get her attention. She opened her eyes, her vision blurry with tears. “Can you hear me?” 

Edith nodded. 

“That seemed way too soon, considering you’d just had a contraction when we were leaving the reception room. How many of these have you had since arriving?” 

“Four, not counting the first one,” said Edith quietly. “The last two came a lot faster.” 

The nurse’s expression flickered, her brow furrowing slightly like she was trying not to frown, and she said briskly, “Okay, we have to get you out of these clothes and into a gown as soon as possible. It’s going to be fine, kiddo.” 

Edith let the nurse take off her vest and shirt first, even though they weren’t really the offending items of clothing, and started to pull on the gown herself, when the nurse interrupted her. 

“You’re going to want to take that off,” she said, pointing at Edith’s bra. 

“Oh.” She didn’t see why it mattered when she was almost certainly going to die before it would come into play, but she took heart in removing the bra and handing it to the nurse. Already she could feel another contraction coming, soon, too soon. Edith took a deep breath and pulled on the hospital gown, starting to panic now. The conflicting mantra started in her head again-- _ I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, I’m going to die, please, I don’t want to die, not yet. _

“Quick, please”--she stuttered out the words while she still could--”get rid of my other clothes, I can’t--” And then the full force of the contraction and her panic knocked the air from her lungs, and she was struggling just to breathe, lying in the hospital bed, her hands on her stomach, thinking on repeat  _ I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I’m going to die I don’t want to die I want to meet you-- _

The pain receded, and air filled her lungs with such speed and force it was like the tide coming in, crashing over her in a mixture of relief and shock. The nurse had succeeded in removing her tights and underwear, which Edith suspected were ruined with fluids she didn’t want to know anything about, but due to the death metal grip of her hands on her abdomen, the nurse had been unable to take off her gloves. She tried to now, but Edith wouldn’t let her. 

“No!” The word burst out of her with more force than anything she’d yet said, and Edith grabbed her stomach again to stop the nurse from removing the gloves, still panting from the contraction. 

“But I need to take them off for the IV--”

“No!” Edith felt like crying for some reason, her eyes filling with tears as she clung to her gloves and her bump--all that was left of her family. “No, please, it’s important.” 

The nurse held up her hands and backed off a little. “Okay, it’s okay. I won’t take them off. But the doctor’s going to want an IV, and I need to set up some monitors. Work with me, kiddo.” 

“Okay,” Edith whispered, trying to hold back her tears and failing slightly. A few rolled down her face, and she messily scrubbed them away with her gloved hand. Then she relaxed as best she could, which wasn’t a lot, and let her arms fall at her sides. “Do it.” 

The nurse gently applied the monitors, pushing up and pulling back down Edith’s glove once but not removing it. She didn’t insert an IV yet, possibly waiting for the doctor, but the heart rate monitor burst to life in a flurry of activity just as Edith felt the beginnings of another contraction. They were happening so close together now, and her heart rate was through the roof with stress.  _ I’m going to die I don’t want to die I’m going to die-- _

“Edith, breathe.” It was the nurse, reaching out for her hand. Edith took the nurse’s hand and squeezed it hard enough to crack without meaning to. “You have to breathe during the contractions, kiddo--your heart rate is skyrocketing. Breathe with me.” 

“Can’t,” she whispered, whimpering in pain, but then she inhaled in time to the nurse, a sharp, desperate breath, and just as quickly exhaled, forcing the air back out in a violent rush. The pain continued, but the heart rate monitor stuttered. 

“Yes, good,” the nurse praised, her hand still caught in Edith’s grip. “Now again. Breathe.” 

At just that moment, the doctor finally arrived, but Edith was too focused on breathing to notice. The nurse glanced at the newcomer once before returning her attention to the task at hand. She coached Edith into breathing several more times before the contraction finally let up, each breath quick and pained, tinged with desperation. Edith’s heart rate settled from dangerously high to just worryingly so. The pain receded to a dull ache. She didn’t think it was going to fully go away until she was dead, the baby was born, or both. 

“Miss Finch?” An unfamiliar voice addressed her, and Edith belatedly noticed the doctor had arrived in the form of a woman in her early fifties, with steel-gray hair and blue latex gloves. “Can you hear me?” 

Once again, Edith nodded. She had a minute or two at most until the next contraction, and it was taking all of her power just to keep the heart rate monitor from skyrocketing again. She could hear her pulse drumming in her ears in tandem with it. 

“I need to examine you,” said the doctor calmly and clearly, like she was explaining something to a small child. Edith wasn’t that young, even if this woman was around the age her mother had been when she died. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, although perhaps let go of Miss Fraga--I might need her.” 

The nurse squeezed Edith’s hand, smiling apologetically, and Edith let go of her, returning both hands to her stomach instead. She hadn’t expected to have a hand to hold for long, but it had been nice while it lasted. Without it, she kept up her flagging breathing and tried not to notice the pain getting stronger again, focusing instead on the doctor looking between her legs with a subtle but definite frown. 

“How long have you been in labor again?” she asked Edith, although she’d already told the nurse earlier. 

“A couple of hours,” Edith ground out through gritted teeth. Her time was almost up. “Maybe three. It took me a while to get here.” 

The doctor raised her eyebrows. “You’re almost six centimeters dilated, and your contractions are less than two minutes apart according to your nurse. That’s impressive work for only three hours. Has your water broken?” 

“Earlier,” Edith groaned, clutching her stomach. “Sorry, I--” She couldn’t feel anything but the pain of it, and distantly she heard the heart rate monitor begin spiralling out of control again, her heart beating out the same tattoo of panic as her brain,  _ I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, it hurts so much, it shouldn’t hurt this much, I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die like the others-- _

“....not breathing, I don’t know why, I think she’s scared…” A hand slipped into Edith’s and immediately received the full crushing force of her grasp, and she suddenly realized her lungs were burning in addition to her muscles being on fire. She heaved in a breath and forced it out just as quickly, a broken cry escaping her at the same time. It hurt so much, but she could feel something other than the pain, and that was someone’s hand, and she couldn’t even remember whose hand it was, but she could remember to breathe, if she just focused on that person’s hand, and not the fact that she was dying. 

“I’m worried if we give her a sedative she’ll stop breathing all together,” said a voice near her, gentle and familiar but not anyone she knew by name. It was the nurse, she realized. The pain was lessening, and the nurse was holding her hand again. Edith felt a pang to her heart--she’d been wishing for someone else, but she didn’t know who. Tears of pain and grief welled up in the corners of her eyes. 

“It’s her decision, if she’s conscious for it,” said the doctor. “She doesn’t have a guardian or an emergency contact. She’s not in our system. It’s her body, and she’s obviously under a lot of stress.” The doctor stepped closer. “Miss Finch? We have a question for you, if you can answer it.” 

Edith blinked at her, trying not to cry. “I think I’m dying,” she confessed, her voice faint with pain. She’d barely heard anything the doctor had said except that she’d addressed her, and the confession of fear had burst out of her without meaning to in response. 

The nurse made a soft noise of distress. The doctor narrowed her eyes. 

“You are not going to die, Miss Finch,” the doctor said tersely. “You will be fine. I’m going to begin set-up on an IV for you, and look into finding you some pain-relief options.” 

The nurse cut in, still holding Edith’s hand. “Don’t--please don’t remove her gloves. She was very upset when I tried.” 

Edith squeezed the nurse’s hand, gently this time, in gratitude not pain, although she could feel the pain building again already. Her head was abuzz with fear and confusion, stress and pain, always pain. It was too much, too fast. There wasn’t anything she could do but breathe, breathe until she couldn’t any more, but it felt like that moment was approaching sooner than she wished for. 

“It hurts,” she whispered to the nurse. “It hurts too much. I don’t want to die.” 

The nurse’s expression was filled with sympathy. “Hang on, kiddo,” she said. “The doctor will fix you up soon. I think she gets the picture.” 

Edith wasn’t sure what the picture was, but before she could get any further with that line of thought, the contraction hit in full force, and she cried out, all previous thoughts forgotten except for the dull roar of pain and fear in her mind.  _ Breathe _ , the stranger’s hand in hers told her. She grunted in pain and felt sweat bead on her forehead, curving herself around her belly involuntarily, forcing her lungs to intake air and expel it again.  _ I don’t want to die, please, I don’t want to die, I want it to stop, I don’t want to die, I think I’m dying, I don’t want to die.  _

At some point during the contraction the doctor had gone for the IV, leaving Edith alone with the nurse again. Exhaustion and terror swept over her, and she looked about with wide-open eyes in the moment between contractions. She felt like she was waiting for something, but whether it was the doctor’s return or the baby’s birth or her own death she wasn’t sure. She could feel herself getting weaker, and the pain was growing stronger and stronger. She gripped the nurse’s hand and turned to look at her while she still could, a whimper escaping her at the change in pressure. 

“How much longer?” she asked. It came out different than she’d expected--louder, a strangled noise, breathless and pained, but very much alive. She’d expected to sound like she felt--exhausted, afraid, dying--and she did sound tired and scared, but she also sounded  _ angry _ and  _ desperate _ , like she was expecting--demanding--a happy ending and it just needed to happen sooner. Edith felt tears prick her eyes again, and this time she did nothing to stop them. 

“At the rate you’re going?” the nurse said, obviously trying to think fast. “Not much longer, kiddo. I imagine it’ll be over within the hour.” 

Edith nodded, and grimaced in pain again. One hour. It was both too much and too little time--too long for her to survive this level of pain, and too short to be her remaining time on Earth. Fear hit her again, and breathing hard, she pressed her free hand against her stomach, looking down at herself with an unreadable expression on her face. The cause of her suffering, as succinct as it could be--family. A baby. Another Finch. She could feel her heart breaking in her chest at the same time as her mind warred over the outcome of this ordeal and her body labored and fought to bring about its own demise and the birth of another. When she thought about it like that, it was no wonder she was crying. 

Edith struggled through several more contractions, each worse than the last, before the doctor returned. The heart rate monitor beeped wildly, but never reached a point where the nurse had to coach her through breathing again, a fact for which she was silently proud. Sweat beaded her hairline, and her whole body ached with pain and exhaustion. The pressure was fast approaching unbearable. 

“Okay, this may pinch somewhat, but at this point, I doubt you’ll notice,” said the doctor as she inserted an IV needle into Edith’s arm per the nurse’s instructions to avoid removing the girl’s gloves. She was right--Edith barely felt a thing, more concerned with her labor that was fast approaching its conclusion. Her distress had reached a fever pitch during the doctor’s absence, and the pain had become near constant. Cries of pain were frequently wrenched from her throat as the intensity ebbed and swelled.  _ I’mdyingIdon’twanttodieI’mdyingIdon’twanttodie pleasepleaseplease Idon’twanttodiebutpleasemakeitstop-- _

“You should check on her progress,” said the nurse, evidently ignoring the fervent beeping of the heart monitor as a lost cause. Edith was still breathing, but her heart was racing wildly, an unstoppable drumming, and nothing could be done to slow it short of an end to pain or life. Its owner was under far too much stress. 

The doctor finished with the IV and came over to the end of the bed, exchanging a look of concern with the nurse. “Pardon me, Miss Finch,” she said, checking under the hospital gown. She immediately frowned and straightened again. “Nine centimeters. I’m sorry, but it looks like the anesthesiologist won’t make it here in time to give you an epidural. You have ten, maybe fifteen minutes before the second stage of labor, at which point the epidural becomes ineffective anyway.” 

Edith couldn’t form the words to respond. She could only muster a soft moan in response to the doctor’s pronouncement. After a moment, she felt like she was falling, almost dizzy, even though she was lying down. Her breathing had become increasingly weak and shallow, and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to stay awake despite the pain and exhaustion. It was unbearable. 

“Kiddo?” It was the nurse’s voice again. “Kiddo! She’s losing consciousness. Edith, wake up!” The heart rate monitor was slowing down. 

“I’m on it,” said the doctor. There was some shuffling of items and people, and then--”I hope she feels this one.” 

There was a stabbing pain in her thigh, which she might not have noticed except for the accompanying rush of--something. Edith’s eyes shot open, and the heart rate monitor spiked before settling into a fast pace once again. She felt suddenly wide awake despite her exhaustion, and the pain returned in full clarity. Edith gripped her stomach and groaned. 

“I’m awake,” she panted. “ _Ah!_ _Help_ \--out of--ow-- _please_.” 

“That was adrenaline and cortisol,” the doctor informed her. “A bit of a calculated risk, considering the amount already in your system, but I had to wake you up somehow. That should’ve activated your fight-or-flight response again, and I’m  _ hoping  _ you’ll pick  _ fight _ .” 

“Come on, kiddo,” urged the nurse, taking her hand again. Edith reestablished her death grip automatically. “You’re almost there.” 

There was an unbelievable amount of pressure building in her stomach, and a ridiculous amount of hormones running through her veins, and it made Edith feel like fighting.  _ I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I want to meet you I don’t want to die I can die later I want it to stop but I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I WANT YOU OUT… _

Edith’s breathing hitched, and she started to growl in a way she hadn’t before. It wasn’t in despair. It was more like a battlecry.  _ I don’t want to die. _

“Edith, wait!” The nurse had stood up, still holding her hand. “I know you want to, but don’t push! The doctor hasn’t confirmed if you’re fully dilated yet. You could hemorrhage.” 

Edith groaned and shifted uncomfortably, her nerve endings on fire. It was suddenly of the utmost importance, on a primal level she hadn’t felt before, to get the baby out of her and to do so  _ now _ , but the nurse had said not to push, and she’d trusted the nurse so far. The pain peaked and then eased off again, but it didn’t dissipate and Edith knew it would worsen again soon. She felt wound as tight as a spring, and with each second she held off pushing the urge to increased. 

“You’re at ten centimeters and ready to push in record time,” said the doctor from the foot of the bed. Edith couldn’t see her since all her attention was focused on her belly and the unbearable pressure inside her, but she grunted in assent. The nurse elevated the bed slightly, putting Edith into more of a sitting position, and the doctor put on a new pair of gloves, but Edith barely noticed. Her legs had naturally worked themselves apart, and as the next contraction occurred, she bore down with all the strength she had left and then some, her fingernails drawing grooves in the nurse’s hand and sweat dripping into her eyes. She pushed for the whole length of the contraction, a guttural growl dragged from her throat. 

“Good job,” said the nurse, her face writ with concern. She shifted her grip on Edith’s hand. “Keep it up, kiddo. You’re so close.” 

Edith gasped for breath, then groaned as another contraction hit before she had time to catch it entirely. She pushed again, her spirits flagging as it felt like she was making little headway. 

“You’re doing a great job,” soothed the nurse. “You knew just what to do without me telling you. You’re a natural. That’s it, now breathe. Breathe, Edith.” 

Edith breathed, a shaky noise that sounded almost like she was crying. “I don’t want to die,” she told the nurse. 

“You won’t,” said the doctor firmly, from her place near Edith’s feet. “Now prepare to push.” 

And so it went, moments of excruciating pain interspersed with brief respites to breathe and panic and whisper quietly about how she didn’t want to die, she hoped she wasn’t dying, she wanted to meet her baby, she’d never admitted it outloud before, only written it down once, but it was true, and oh, it hurt so much, she’d been certain this was how she was going to die, but she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to--

“This is it, kiddo,” the nurse told her, having held her hand for almost three quarters of an hour as she labored. “Just one more and you’ve done it. Make it a good one.” 

Edith screamed in pain, her muscles burning, her body spent, as she pushed one last time, with a strength she felt no right to and had no understanding of where it could’ve come from, and suddenly, to her complete and utter surprise, she felt something that wasn’t pain--relief. She panted for breath and fell back against the bed in surprise, dropping the nurse’s hand for the first time. She wasn’t dead. 

“Is it okay?” she asked faintly, her voice hoarse from screaming and exhaustion. “Is it over?” 

The doctor was holding something, and suddenly, with nearly as much surprise as she’d felt at the relief, Edith became aware of a gentle warbling noise filling the room. The baby was crying. 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced. “A healthy baby boy with some impressive dark hair. Do you want to hold him now, or after we’ve cleaned him up?” 

“Please,” Edith whispered. “I want to hold him.” 

The doctor walked over and carefully deposited the baby on Edith’s chest. Edith blinked back tears as she stared at him with wide eyes. He was slimy and small with dark hair like the doctor had said and his eyes weren’t open yet and he was  _ perfect _ , all covered in blood, but breathing and wiggling and making noises that gave Edith goosebumps because  _ that was her son and she was alive to see him. _ Sniffling, she removed one of her gloves so she could touch him properly, and she cradled him to her chest with a sense of awe and disbelief. Ten fingers, ten toes… She gently wiped his face clean with the hospital gown so she could see him better. Nose, mouth, eyes, and ears, all present and accounted for, down to the tiny wisps of his eyelashes and a light sprinkling of freckles he must’ve gotten from her. Edith was stunned. 

“Might as well ask you now,” said the doctor quietly, with some respect for the tender moment. She was standing a few feet away, ready to take back the baby and make sure everything was in order once Edith was done. “Have you got a name for him?” 

“Christopher,” Edith hiccoughed, still crying. “Christopher Louis Finch.” 

The baby in question stirred and nuzzled against Edith, making her cry harder, but they were happy tears, tears of joy and relief. She kissed her son delicately on the top of the head. 

“Okay, you can take him,” she said after a moment, tears still staining her face, “but please bring him back soon.” 

“Of course,” said the doctor. She took the baby and started to leave.

The nurse awkwardly moved around the bed to follow the doctor out, but before she left, she turned to Edith and said, “I’m proud of you, kiddo. You did amazing. Congratulations.” 

Edith felt warm inside, the happiness already inside her excited in the presence of praise. “Thanks,” she said, wiping away tears only for more to take their place. “And thanks for your help.” 

The nurse grinned. “It is my job, but I was happy to help. Even if you did a number on my hand. Anyway, I’ve got to go. See you in a minute, kiddo.” 

The nurse ducked out, and Edith sat back and for the first time thought about what she was going to do since she was alive, but she only thought of good things, like telling her baby about his family even if he was far too small to understand it, and buying new fingerless gloves because she wanted to preserve these ones now, and living as a family someplace that wasn’t scary or filled with ghosts and rooms you couldn’t enter. She daydreamed of nice things until the doctor returned, rolling in a glass box holding a clean and safely wrapped up Christopher. Edith smiled in dazed relief. The nurse returned shortly after. 

“You can hold him as long as you like,” the doctor said, handing Edith back her baby, “but I suspect you’ll start falling asleep soon, at which point I’d recommend having Miss Fraga here put him back.” 

“That’s me,” said the nurse, wiggling her fingers in an approximation of a wave, “but I’d prefer if you called me Adriana, or Adri. That’s what most people call me.” 

Edith nodded silently, utterly absorbed in looking at her baby, who, now that he was clean, had finally decided to open his eyes. They were a light brown color, to her surprise, and they were beautiful, soft and completely innocent. He blinked at her sleepily and made a gentle mewling noise. She blinked back, lightly stroking his hair, feeling pretty sleepy herself. 

“Do you want to try feeding him?” asked the nurse--Adri, her name was. “You can try breastfeeding him, or I can get a bottle.” 

Edith glanced at Adri, then nodded. “I’d like to....but I don’t know how.” 

Adri smiled encouragingly. “It’s just like how you’d think it’s done.” 

Doubt flickered across Edith’s face, but she tugged down the hospital gown, exposing her left breast, and the baby, who had already been nuzzling her, seemed to catch onto the idea. She carefully moved his head a couple inches to the right, and he caught on successfully. Edith continued to hold him, increasingly feeling the effects of her labor, for several minutes, but she wasn’t ready to let go of him yet. She just wanted to keep looking at him, amazed at the existence of something so small and unique and unbelievable as this. Her son was warm and soft, and holding him made Edith feel not alone. 

Eventually, Christopher decided he was done, and he gave a great yawn for such a tiny creature, making Edith smile again. 

“Told you you were a natural,” said Adri, who’d been sitting off to the side on a folding chair Edith hadn’t noticed before. She stood up. “Want me to take him back so you can sleep now? You look exhausted, kiddo, and for good reason.” 

Edith shook her head sleepily, hugging Christopher protectively to her chest, before reconsidering. She didn’t want him to get hurt if she fell asleep holding him. The safest thing for him was probably to relinquish him to the nurse, no matter how much Edith wanted to hold him tight and not let go, not let any family curse or freak chance take away the one family member she had left. 

“Okay,” Edith said quietly, “but keep him safe.” She stared down at her sleeping son once more, her heart in her throat, before reluctantly handing him off to Adri. 

“You have my word,” said the nurse. 

Adri carefully settled the sleeping Christopher into his box and wheeled him out, promising to be back when Edith woke up. She could feel herself slipping away again, but this time the heart rate monitor kept up a good steady beat, a beat her heart was matching. A vague sense of worry over Christopher’s safety crossed her mind, but to her surprise, it soon vanished, and Edith let sleep overtake her, content that when she woke up her son would be there. 

XXX

**Eleven Years Later**

“You know, the last time I was here, I was regretting my decision to come while pregnant with you,” said Edith, watching her son stare out into the sea. “I didn’t expect there to be so much climbing.” 

Christopher turned back to look at her. “Are all these graves really our family members? There’s so many.” 

Edith looked around--they were on top of the hill near the house, in the human section of the graveyard. She could see the statue of Odin, still standing, some distance away. Everything was pretty much how she’d left it. A bit older, a bit more weathered, but otherwise the same. There was Milton’s paintbrush, and Edith Sr.’s cloud of letters. There was Barbara’s star, and Lewis’s crown. Everything was right where she’d left it. 

“Most of them are,” Edith said. “Some of them down there are for pets. I always found that pretty creepy.” 

“Weird,” Christopher agreed. He spun around in a circle, swinging a bouquet of flowers around with him. Edith had let him pick them out, and he’d surprised her by selecting calla lilies--an oddly appropriate choice from an eleven year old. “Who should we give them to first?” 

“Let’s start with your grandmother and uncles and work our way back,” Edith suggested. “And I have something to show you once we’re done.” 

“Good something or bad something?” 

“Why would I show you a bad something?” 

Christopher shrugged. “We’re in a graveyard. That house is spooky. I just thought I’d ask.” 

“It’s a book,” Edith said. “I wrote it last time I was here.” 

“Before I was born,” said Christopher, proving he’d been paying attention. 

“Before you were born,” Edith agreed. “It’s a family history. I wrote it because I was afraid I wouldn’t get to tell you myself, but fortunately, I’m still here, so I can walk you through it, if you want.” 

“That’s mysterious,” Christopher said, now wandering around trying to find the newer graves. “Does it have anything to do with the fact that one guy here was only one year old when he died?” 

“Gregory,” Edith informed him. “He would’ve been your great-uncle. And yes, it’s leading up to that.” 

Edith showed Christopher Dawn and Lewis’s graves, and Milton’s monument, and he set a calla lily on each of them. From there they traced their way back to Sam and Gus and Gregory, and then Walter and Calvin and Barbara and Molly. She’d wanted to visit Edie’s last. She had probably some of the most conflicting feelings for her great-grandmother, but the whole exercise of showing her son around the family cemetery felt like something Edie would’ve supported, so she’d wanted to put some extra care into explaining who she was. 

“Wow, she lived a really long time,” Christopher commented as soon as he saw the grave. He set down the last of the calla lilies. 

“Yes,” said Edith. “That’s my great-grandmother, so your great-great-grandmother. I was named after her, and she lived in this house for a very long time. Until the night I left it, actually. She’s one of the only people here I actually got to meet. She outlived everyone except me and your grandmother, and she dedicated a lot of her time to preserving their stories. It’s probably her fault we’re here--if I’d listened to my mother, I would never have come here again.” 

“It’s not so bad here,” said Christopher. He was looking off in the direction of the house. “It’s kind of sad, but also kind of cool. I like the castle.” 

“That’s Milton’s,” said Edith automatically. She smiled. “Come on, you can look through the book and I can tell you the stories on the way back.” 

She pulled an old journal from a messenger bag she was carrying and offered it to Christopher. He accepted it with a curious expression. On the front was his mother’s name, and on the first page was written  _ This probably isn’t going to make a lot of sense to you, and I’m sorry about that _ . 

He turned and looked at his mother, his eyebrows raised. 

“Okay, so the whole thing started when a man named Odin Finch tried to move his family to America from Norway,” Edith began. She started to lead Christopher back down the hill. “Unfortunately, the crossing did not go according to plan, and he drowned in the bay here. You should probably expect to hear a lot of that kind of thing during this story...” 

The two of them continued on down the hill and back through the forest to the ferry. 


End file.
